When a hurricane washes out my plans of a girls’ trip to Miami, I’m anything but thrilled to be spending my Fourth of July weekend alone. That is until I return home and find myself face-to-face with a handsome stranger in the middle of my living room. He’s six-foot-three, tatted, and looks like he eats dumbbells for breakfast. Not to mention, he’s soaking wet from the storm brewing outside. I should scream, run, or call the police. So why don’t I? Because I’m too focused on taming my bucking heart and silencing the reckless thoughts bouncing through my head every time his hungry eyes land on mine. Additionally, a dead cell and no electricity mean no one’s coming to save me. And from the way I can’t stop clenching my thighs, I don’t think I want them to.